


Balancing Act

by CatKing_Catkin



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adorable Cole, Dancing Lessons, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dragon Age Quest: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Human Cole, Iron Bull Feels, Learning to be Human, Light Angst, Mind Meld, POV Cole, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Iron Bull, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/pseuds/CatKing_Catkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But you hate demons."</p><p>"Listen, Cole. You might be a weird, squirrely kid, but you're my weird, squirrely kid."</p><p>The Inquisitor brought Iron Bull and Cole to the Winter Palace, because misery often loves company. Since neither of them brought a jar of bees to entertain themselves with, they wind up keeping one another company. More to the point, Iron Bull does the best he can to keep Cole safe in the midst of much too many political schemers. </p><p>Cole, meanwhile, is well aware that he's out of his depth, in the sort of place he could never have imagined being before joining the Inquisition. As always, he has questions. As always, Iron Bull does the best he can to answer, even if the best way to do so is to take Cole by the hands and walk him through the steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balancing Act

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently all of my fic involving Iron Bull and Cole must be either creepy and twisted or tooth-rottingly fluffy. There is no middle ground. 
> 
> I actually initially intended to write this from Iron Bull's perspective, not least because I had the idea for the little scene at the end to tie this all together. Cole's head proved more open, in the end, and I've never been good at writing third-person omniscient. I guess it makes sense - Cole usually has a lot to say, he just hasn't always figured out how to say it yet. And I can use him to cheat just a little at narration, in a pinch. Hopefully I made it work.

He expected to hurt. To hurt and be hurt. That was what his hands knew best. That was what the scars remembered. The Iron Bull remembered how to be here, how to talk and smile and say nothing with too many words. He wished he didn’t, but he was here, anyway.

Cole understood. He wished he knew how to talk and smile and say nothing with too many words, but he didn’t, and he was here anyway. He wished he wasn’t. The thoughts of everyone here were twisted and tangled and tart and he had a headache.

Still, the Inquisitor wanted them here. She wanted people who didn’t want to be here, because she didn’t want to be here, and sometimes it was fun to be tired when you were tired together. Sera was here, too. He didn’t know where she was, only that she’d just been on the balcony over there. The doors to that balcony were still locked while some guards shooed away the bees that had appeared as if by magic there. It hadn’t been by magic. Sera had only lied when the Inquisitor asked her if she had any jars in her bag, but that was okay, because the Inquisitor had known she was lying and she had known that the Inquisitor had known and that was like not lying at all, he supposed.

He didn’t know where Sera was, now, and he didn’t know where the Inquisitor was, which only made Cole all the more determined to know where The Iron Bull was. People here shouldn't have been able to see him until he wanted them to, but he had to focus more now to make people forget, and there were so many sights and sounds and scents and hats here that it was hard. People thought _how small and strange_ , they tried to trick him and twist words around him to trap him, and Cole didn't mind what they said to him but he was afraid to say something to hurt the Inquisition, and the end result was he stood quiet and stared at his feet and hoped they would go away. Finally, Iron Bull came to his rescue at last and led him away.

So now Cole sat safe in his shadow, perched on a railing around the floor of dancers that Iron Bull was also leaning against. Iron Bull had a drink in his hand. He could still remember how many drinks he’d had, which was apparently important. Cole didn’t ask why. Everything was starting to feel softer, at least, for the Qunari and the boy listening to the echoes in his head. So he didn’t mind. The stares didn’t sear his skin quite as badly, sitting here.

Cole found himself passing the time until they knew what to do next by watching the dancers on the floor below. They were bright, bejeweled, beaming like stars and moving in patterns just as incomprehensible. Most of them enjoyed it, at least. For some, it was the first sincere smile they’d let themselves show all night.

“Drink for your thoughts, kid?” Iron Bull asked, luring Cole out of his thoughts with a nudge to the boy’s shoulder.

“Why would I need to drink for my thoughts?” Cole asked, without looking up.

“No, kid. That means _I_ …never mind.” Iron Bull patted him gently on his unfortunately bare head. “I meant you looked like you’re thinking, harder than usual. What about?”

“Dancing. I don’t understand it.”

“What’s there to understand?”

“How do they do it? How do they move together with people without seeing inside them? I couldn't. I would step on everyone's feet. I wouldn't want anyone to step on my feet.”

“I could give you the Orlesian answer or the normal answer.”

“Can you give me both?”

“I don’t know why you’d want to see any more inside the head of these pricks than we’re being forced to see already, but sure, kid. The Orlesian answer is that they don’t have to know a damn thing about who they’re dancing with. They just have to know the steps. Anyone at this sort of shindig wouldn’t have reached the point of being invited if they didn’t know the steps. That’s not to say that they’re not paying attention, of course. It’s just that, rather than what dancing usually is for people, this is their form of attack. They’re not strong enough to swing one of my axes, some of them don’t even look strong enough to use your daggers. The point of any fight is just to make it so your opponent stops attacking you. If you can’t do it by cutting his windpipe, then you do it by humiliating him so badly that he doesn’t see the point in attacking you anymore. Dancing, in Orlais, is what you do to an opponent when there are too many witnesses around to cut his throat.”

Cole nodded. He supposed, if he tilted his head and squinted, it made sense. The movements were very formal, stiff and controlled and precise. Fighting could be like that. It wasn’t for him, or for Iron Bull, but they didn’t fight the way most other people did. The ones who didn’t step quickly enough were the ones being led around like dogs on leashes, to retreat at the first opportunity with heads bowed and hearts shaken.

“What’s the ‘normal’ answer? What is dancing usually for people?”

“Dancing is _fun_. You don’t have to be perfect at it. If you step on a few toes, no harm done. _Well_ …no harm done if you’re kid-sized, I suppose. I tend to get more objections. But it’s just another way of being with a person. Being close to them. Words don’t have to get in the way, and you can just… _exist_ with them.” Iron Bull was treading close, too close, to some old wounds in his head. With well-practiced grace, he turned away at the last second, steering into safer waters instead. He downed the rest of his drink in one deep draught, before adding: “And hey, for people who don’t spend half their time fighting demons, its good exercise.”

Iron Bull stared down at Cole, who felt himself being stared at and looked up at Iron Bull. It was easy to feel when Iron Bull was staring at you. It was like he saved all the power most people had in two eyes all up in one.

Cole couldn’t see as clearly inside someone’s head when there wasn’t pain there to be seen. The louder the pain, the louder the sound. Iron Bull was good at keeping his pain quiet, but he was also so big that there was a lot of it to be had anyway.

Even so, all he could see was that the question Iron Bull asked next was nowhere near as simple as he wanted it to be, and even the question itself was distracting enough.

“Want to try it?”

It wasn’t often that Cole was at a loss for words, even if they were often the wrong words. He made a few stumbling attempts at a reply that made Iron Bull smile fondly to see. Bolstered perhaps by this, by the reminder that he was still among friends even if that friend was acting strangely, Cole finally settled on the easiest reply. “I don’t know how.”

“That’s why I’m going to teach you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Having your feet stepped on did hurt, after all. Cole used to try and avoid the problem by not lifting his feet, but then the rocks made noise when he walked.

Iron Bull only snorted. His reply was, to quite simply, pick Cole up around the waist and settle him down, so that his feet were balanced on Iron Bull’s feet. “You won’t.” Though of course, they knew he could. “But here. Better?”

Cole was faintly surprised to realize that it was. Iron Bull's feet weren't flat like the floor, but in many ways, they were more stable. “Yes!” And in turn, he could tell that Iron Bull barely noticed his weight. This was good. This was okay. He was safe, held secure, _these masked assholes can keep their eyes off him, he's just a kid, but he's_ my _kid_...

“Good,” Iron Bull replied easily. He took one of Cole's hands in his, and guided it to take hold of Iron Bull's shirt. The fabric bunched under Cole's fingers. Josephine had worried so much over it hanging just perfectly. _Good. Things could stand to be a little imperfect right now_. He gathered up Cole's other hand in his, and just...held it. His hand was large enough that Cole's was lost in it, and strong enough to break every bone with a squeeze. Cole knew it was, because Iron Bull knew it was. He wished he didn't, but he'd thought that way for so long and _the danger you don't look for is the danger that finds you_.

He squeezed Iron Bull's hand the best that he could, trying to express without words what Cole knew he still didn't know enough to express with words. Maybe he never would. _It's okay. Standing crouched and coiled and quick. Knuckles white, teeth bared. You want him, you go through me. That matters more_.

He didn't know if he managed to say without saying. He didn't know if Iron Bull heard, but he _was_ a good listener. What mattered most was that he was safe in The Iron Bull's shadow, and with the current song already well underway, Iron Bull started to carefully guide him through a simple dance. He moved his feet, and Cole moved his feet with Iron Bull's feet, and Cole didn't step on any toes because he didn't lift his toes to step. Cole found himself looking at Iron Bull's shirt rather than his face as they danced. He hoped that was okay. It was just that the way the red in the fabric shifted and swirled into new shades under the light of many lanterns reminded him of the Fade, of home that was no longer home.

_We're attracting even more attention. What a pair we make. Maybe that's not a bad plan. The more they look at us, the more they don't look at the boss. Is he enjoying this? Still so hard to tell. Those are some of the only eyes I still can't see past, and not just because of all the hair..._

And Cole understood that dancing wasn't just possible without being able to see into someone's mind and heart. Dancing was a way of letting you see into someone's mind and heart, even without having a mind of your own that knew how to listen for the sounds from the start. When you shared the same hopes, the same breath, the same thoughts couldn't help but follow after. Even for him. Especially for him.

He wasn't certain if he was enjoying himself. Cole had learned a vast array of shapes for emotions and sensations, but he didn't always know what those shapes meant to other people, and sometimes those other people gave him different answers between them. He did know that this was...okay, and it was safe, and he liked learning another way to move that didn't involve hurting people. Otherwise, he still tended to lose track of his feet. Maybe that would happen less, now. He didn't think they were following the music's rhythm, and they weren't even on the floor where everyone else was dancing. Maybe that was better.

“Make sense now?” Iron Bull asked, at long last, all without either of them missing a beat.

Cole nodded, for once without hesitation. “It makes sense now,” he agreed. And it was so very rarely that he got to say those words in that order that something else impossible and unexpected happened next. He felt...light, like soap bubbles dancing around a candle flame, rising up in his throat and into his mouth and when he opened his mouth to let them out...Cole laughed. Briefly, brokenly, hesitantly because he wasn't sure he ever had before. Not as him, if there was a “him”.

Now he had. The Iron Bull saw it, and felt better, and that was even better.

_The cynical part of him wondered if the man was using the little girl as a human shield, trying to buy a few more minutes while he looked for a way out from the net of agents closing in. The part of him that still wasn't quite scarred enough to stop caring wondered if the man knew his inevitable fate, and was only buying a few minutes to say good-bye. Hissrad had seen doomed men do more stupid things for less reason._

_There was no music to dance to, but they were dancing anyway, on the edge of the market where people wouldn't trip over them. They danced small, simple steps, with the girl standing on her father's feet, and maybe it was his imagination or just the adrenaline leaving him keyed up for the kill, but Hissrad thought he could hear her laughter from here._

“ _Should we move now?” asked Gatt. The elf's fingers were white and shaking around the hilt of his knife, and he hadn't quite done enough to cover up his facial markings with makeup._

“ _Not yet,” Hissrad heard himself say. “We've got eyes on him, and too many eyes on us. We're supposed to keep the body count down today. A few more minutes for everyone to get into position won't make a difference in the end.” They both knew it, and as the man gently settled his daughter down on solid earth once more, Hissrad knew that he knew it as well._

The Inquisitor found them both at last, to whisper beneath the beats of the music that it was time to move at last. Just like that, it was as though a spell had ended that neither of them had meant to cast. Iron Bull was happy to follow her to where Sera was waiting to join them, and Cole was happy to follow them both. After all, it was always safer together. 


End file.
